


M’ Fine Sammy.

by sasha_dragon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_dragon/pseuds/sasha_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not long after Dean’s return from Purgatory, he becomes sick. Sam begins to realize his brother isn’t the only one who needs to establish contact again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	M’ Fine Sammy.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Spoilers for Season 8, if you don’t want to be spoiled look away now  
> Disclaimer: Seriously no money has been made from these demented scribblings. Sadly I have to admit I don’t own these gorgeous boys, I mean no harm...ok, perhaps to Dean maybe. So please don’t sue. All I have is my Supernatural collection, my long-suffering other half and two dogs. I’m kinda fond of all of them.  
> Notes: Once again I’ve been writing. This was inspired by this prompt on hoodie_time. What can I say I’m a sucker for sick, suffering Dean. I only hope I managed to even come close to doing the awesome prompt justice. As always my eternal gratitude goes to bigj52, for her sterling beta work. There can never be enough words to thank her for putting up with me.

  
  
“M’ Fine, Sammy”  
  
Sam gritted his teeth, and counted slowly to ten in his head when he heard those familiar words. He’d always sworn that one day he’d have them carved onto Dean’s tombstone; Sam managed to bite back a strangled laugh as that thought popped into his head.  A long time ago he would’ve found it funny, but not anymore. Not after a spell in Hell for both of them and the year he’d spent without Dean, while his big brother was trapped in Purgatory.   
  
The year he’d thought Dean was dead.  His mind flashed back to the fateful moment at the lab when Dick had exploded and vaporised his brother and Cas, or so he’d thought.  There had been no body for him to salt and burn, honouring Dean’s life as a hunter. All that had been left behind was an oily black residue, not much to show for the loss of his brother.  
  
Sam had been left alone and the world as he’d known it had ceased to exist.  His heart shattered into too many pieces to continue with family business.  He was continually haunted with memories of his brother, freezing if he heard laughter like Dean’s. Or if he caught a glimpse of a leather jacket, he had to fight the urge to run, screaming his brother’s name, so desperate was he for it to be Dean. He’d wandered aimlessly through the days, never settling in any place for more than a day at a time, until the accident with Riot.  
  
 Then gradually he’d been forced to become something else to survive, he’d become normal.  Well, as normal as a Winchester could manage to be.  Then there had been Amelia and Riot to share his life with, but the wound in his heart where his brother still remained had never fully healed.  
  
Then suddenly Dean was back, and he was happy to have him back, but not so happy to have hunting return to his life.  He understood he’d failed Kevin when he’d cut all ties with his former life. He was surprised at how easy it had been to pick up the threads.  The researching, the looking for patterns and unusual events that indicated where a hunt was, had been like breathing, automatic.   
  
 But what hadn’t been automatic was reconnecting with Dean.  It should’ve been so easy, seeing him at Rufus’s cabin.  The feeling of elation when Dean had opened his arms and said, “C’mere,” and the feel of his brother’s arms around him.  It should’ve healed him, made him whole, but now Sam found himself waiting for the other shoe to drop.  The trickster popping up from behind the Impala, clicking his fingers and Dean vanishing, or dropping dead in front of him again. He felt frozen and numb, unable to completely relax and enjoy his brother’s return.   
  
Of course it didn’t help that Dean had hit the ground running, hunting with a renewed zeal and purpose.  Especially now he was on a quest to banish demons from the face of the earth.  He was impressive; Dean had always been a damn good hunter, but now? Now, Dean was something else.  
  
 Sam had studied Dean when they hunted; his movements were fluid and there was a grace to them.  Everything was done with precise economy - short, sharp bursts of lethal force.  Each strike a killing blow, conserving energy and strength.  He was beginning to understand Dean’s comment about three-hundred-and-sixty-degree combat, all day every day.  Dean couldn’t afford to be anything but the consummate hunter and warrior; it was what he’d had to be to survive down there.  
  
It also meant there was no time for weakness. After the tussle with the demons back at the church where they found Kevin, Dean had neglected to mention a slight injury.  Dean’s definition of, “It’s nothing, Sam,” had actually been a gash across the ribs that had taken ten stitches to close.  Sam knew because he’d been the one to put them into Dean’s flesh, another thing he hadn’t missed at all.  And no, he hadn’t been freaked out at all by his brother’s utter silence, as he put him back together.   
  
There was no counting beats, or humming songs under his breath to help keep the pain locked away. Instead, Dean had been hyper vigilant, eyes darting round the motel room, scanning for threats, as if he expected to be attacked while his guard was down. Nor did he comment on the new and exciting scars that he saw on Dean’s body.  He also chose not to mention the way Dean’s hand inched towards that damn freaky axe thing of his, as it lay on the bed beside him.  
  
It came as no surprise to Sam, that when Dean had gotten sick he’d ignored it.  Pushing himself on, Sam had asked to slow down and take a couple of days to regroup, to give him time to search for Kevin and his mom. Dean had just growled at him, “Slow down? Fuck, Sam. It’s just a sniffle.  You think I got duvet days in Purgatory. Come on. Pick your shit up and let’s get moving. You can look for Kevin while I drive.  We’re burning daylight, Sammy.”   
  
 Dean’s little rallying speech had come to an abrupt halt when he threw his arm in front of his face, and sneezed violently.  Sam then surreptitiously checked Dean’s nose was still attached after the Force Ten sneeze. He’d half expected Dean’s nose to have shot across the room, and embedded itself in the wall.  
  
That had been two days ago and the “just a sniffle” had now become a raging cold. Dean rarely got sick, but when he did, he did it in style.  Sam winced when he heard Dean start to cough once more. It was a deep hacking sound that made his chest ache in sympathy. Finally the coughing fit came to a halt, leaving Dean a panting, shivering mess, curled up on the floor at the foot of his now trashed bed. Somehow Dean had to drag his feverish ass out of bed, when he’d taken a bathroom break.  But he’d only managed to stagger a few steps, before collapsing again. Sam walked over to where Dean was sat on the floor, his arms wrapped round ribs, tender and aching from coughing.  
  
  Sam crouched down beside his brother, and gently curled his arm around Dean’s shoulders. Sam slowly helped him to his feet, steadying him until he was balanced. “Hey there, Houdini. Back to bed with you. You’re sick, remember?” he said softly.  
  
Dean lifted his head very slowly and fever-brightened eyes fixed on him, “Wha’? M’not sick, Sammy. Told you m’fine.” Dean slurred, trying to pull away, flapping ineffectually at Sam’s arm. He took a step and his knees buckled, forcing Sam to support his weight.  
  
“Yeah, you’re perfectly fine.” Sam sighed, and helped his brother back to his lumpy motel bed.  He quickly pulled the covers back over Dean, managing to resist the temptation to feel his forehead.  The last time he’d tried that, Dean had threatened to snap his fingers off. Sam hoped this time Dean would stay put, and get some much-needed rest. He straightened up and watched as Dean drifted back into a fitful slumber.  
  
Sam relaxed a little as his brother slept, fingers crossed that this time he’d stay put. Since the illness had taken hold, Dean kept getting out of bed and trying to wander.  The first time it happened, Dean had nearly given him a heart attack.  With his brother snoring away congestedly, Sam had grabbed the chance to slip out to grab them some food, as well as buying more medical supplies in an attempt to nuke the virus from Hell. Or God forbid...Purgatory.  
  
He’d come back to find the bed empty, and was just about to start panicking when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.  Wedged into the furthest corner of the room, with his back pressed against the wall was Dean. Even from where he stood, Sam saw the sheen of sweat on Dean’s pale skin, eyes glazed.  Sam went towards him, the words of greeting sticking in his throat as Dean whipped out his Purgatory axe, and held it in front of him warningly.  
  
“Back the fuck up. Just cause I ain’t standing don’t make me easy meat, you sick son of a bitch.  You stop right there. You’re not getting near me.  I don’t care whose fucking skin you’re wearing.”  
  
The words were full of bravado as Dean’s eyes blazed with fever and fear. Despite the threatening words, Sam could see his arm shaking as his brother fought against weakness.  He took a couple of steps back, and slowly put the bag of supplies down and slipped off his jacket.  Sam moved forward slowly again, and Dean raised the axe higher. “I’m warning you....”   
  
 Dean was overtaken by a fit of coughing that made his eyes water and his nose run, forcing him to wipe it on the sleeve of Sam’s hoodie he’d ‘borrowed’.  The fit ended, leaving him red faced, and gasping for breath. But his eyes never left the perceived threat Sam posed him.  
  
Sam sat down slowly, making sure he was out of reach of the axe. He watched Dean struggle to focus on him as he started to shiver violently. Sam rubbed his hands down his jeans and smiled at his brother, “Hey, Dean. Why aren’t you in bed? Surely you’re not comfortable sitting there.  Come on, you can barely keep your eyes open. You’re sick. You should be resting.” Sam recited what was to become his mantra over the next couple of days.  
  
There was a snort, “Nice try. What are you? Shifter? Leviathan?  You don’t fool me. Sammy’s not here; he’s safe.  You come any closer, and I’ll take your head off your goddamn shoulders.”  Another coughing fit started, and Dean curled over, his head resting on his knees.  The axe, suddenly too heavy to keep upright, was lowered slowly to the floor.  
  
Sam tensed, wondering if he should try and disarm his brother, but any sudden move from him would be perceived as an attack. The last thing either of them needed right now was for Sam to physically attack his brother.  Sam didn’t know where Dean was right this moment, but he wasn’t in this motel room.  Where was he? Hell? Purgatory? Shit, he might even have been reliving St Louis, for all Sam knew.  Instead, Sam remained still, and waited out the coughing fit.  
  
Finally Dean finished and he looked up, puzzled, as if he was trying to figure out why this particular monster hadn’t taken a bite out of his hide. “What ya waiting for? What? Am I too skinny to make a good meal? Or you waitin’ on dinner guests?” He tensed, waiting for the inevitable attack.  
  
Sam rolled his shoulders then ran his fingers through his hair. He shrugged. “No way, dude. I bet you’d taste rank.  All that crap you’ve eaten over the years. Now if you’d eaten the odd vegetable or salad, I might’ve considered it.”  Sam grinned. “I bet you taste of cheeseburger and Twizzlers. Not my idea of gourmet cuisine.”  
  
He held his breath as Dean stared at him; the hold on the axe grew weaker. To Sam’s horror, tears formed in dark-green eyes. “God, no. Sammy, what have you done? Please don’t tell me you made another deal. Wasn’t once in Hell enough for you?  You should’ve left me there with all the other monsters.” His shoulders started to shake as the tears fell faster.  
  
Sam scrambled forward and grabbed Dean by the arms, “No. No, Dean. You’re back, remember?  There was no deal; I swear you got out on your own. Regular Die Hard moment, knowing you.” Sam busied himself, getting ready to get Dean back to his feet, “I’m just so friggin’ sorry I didn’t know where you were. Don’t you dare think you’re a monster, Dean. Do you hear me?”   
  
It looked as if he’d gotten through to his brother when Dean blinked away the tears, and stared blearily at his little brother.  He managed a shaky smile. “Dude, personal space. I told you I’m fine. I can make it back to bed on my own.”   
  
 His face flushed and Sam knew that it wasn’t just fever. His brother was ashamed of what he’d let slip when his wall had cracked. Now Sam moved briskly and impersonally, chatting about the blonde waitress at the diner, giving his brother valuable time to shore up his breeched defences.  
  
And so had begun what was now a familiar pattern for Sam. With Dean’s fever getting worse his disorientation increased. He’d been tracking Kevin and his mom when he’d heard the sounds of distress coming from Dean’s bed.  He looked over his lap top and immediately got to his feet.  Dean was shivering so hard, the bed was shaking.  All he could see of his brother was the top of his head, as he was burrowed deep in the bedclothes.  
  
Sam walked to the bed and knelt by it; he could hear soft pained noises coming from his brother. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and sweat was beading on a furrowed brow. Dean sounded as if he was running from something, as his breath rattled in his chest.  Sam stood and started unwrapping Dean from his self-mummification. The whimpers and moans changed, becoming words.  Sam stilled, listening, trying to gauge where his brother was trapped in this fever dream.  
  
“Move. Gotta keep movin’...Come on, Cas. Where the Hell are you?”  Then the bedclothes were torn from his grip as Dean started to flail when he either fought, or fled some unimaginable horror. “Shit! Run! We gotta run, Levi.... Nooooo B...!”  Dean sat bolt upright, gasping for air, looking round the room, unaware of where he was.  
  
Sam reached out to him but before he could touch Dean, his hand shot up and took a surprisingly firm hold of his left wrist.  Sam stayed motionless, “Hey bro, would you mind not squeezing so hard? I don’t want it breaking again.” He smiled gently when Dean looked up, and focused on his face.  
  
Dean stared hard at him, and then managed to breathe through his nose.  Sam got the impression that Dean was checking his scent. Crap! How weird was that?   Obviously he passed the test, as Dean relaxed his grip. “Sammy.....” Dean managed to slur before his eyes rolled up, and his body went limp, forcing Sam to catch him and lower him back to the bed.  
  
Sam rearranged the bedclothes then picked up a bottle of water from the bedside table. It was still cool; he opened it and gently lifted Dean’s head, “Come on. You need a drink. That’s it.”  He waited for Dean to drink some of the water, before he reached for the cold medication, hoping it would help to lower his brother’s temperature.  
  
Dean went to pull the covers back up; Sam rested his hand on his brother’s. “Not too many covers, man. You’re burning up.  Just let me get something to cool you down.”  
  
As Sam walked away he heard his brother speak. “Not hot, m’ cold.  It’s always cold here. No matter what happens, s’always cold.  Jus’ like Hell was. At least m’not alone here...”  
  
Sam turned to ask Dean what he’d meant about being alone, but he could see his brother was asleep, or so he’d thought. While he was in the bathroom running a washcloth under the cold tap he heard a thud. Turning off the tap he ran back into the room to find Dean on the floor. It looked like he was trying to make his way to the bathroom.  
  
Sam crouched by him, shook his head and sat him up. “Are you trying to give me grey hair? Why can’t you stay in bed?”  
  
Dean laughed until he started to cough. Finally he stopped and wheezed out, “Don’t worry, Sam. We’ll get it coloured, and I’d hate to see you go grey.”  He smacked Sam’s leg, “Because you’re worth it.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and picked Dean up off the carpet, depositing him back in bed before putting the cool cloth across his forehead. Sam waited for Dean’s eyes to close, although he put up a valiant struggle in his attempt to stay awake. The inevitable happened and Dean succumbed to his fever, and exhaustion. But his rest was anything but peaceful, as Dean continually tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable.  
  
Sam kept a closer watch on Dean after that, but it seemed every time he moved away from the bed big brother tried to follow.  It was funny at first. When Sam tried to take a quick shower he came out to find Dean sat outside the door, as if he was guarding the room against monsters.    
  
Now he realized every time he was out of Dean’s line of sight, his stubborn ass of a brother struggled to find him. Even down to dragging his sick ass out of bed if he had to, constantly searching the room to catch a glimpse of him, making sure Sam was ok and safe.  
  
But now it was becoming worrying, Dean wasn’t resting.  The fever still clung to him, smothering him with strength-sapping heat. Sam sighed as yet again he put Dean back in bed. Without thinking he sat on the edge of the bed and Dean’s restless movements stopped.   
  
Sam looked down. Was it really that simple?  Were they so out of synch he hadn’t seen it?  The first night Dean had gotten sick, Sam was woken by Dean coughing and sneezing.  But when he’d rolled over to talk to his brother, Dean wasn’t in bed.  Instead he was sat on the floor between the beds, keeping watch in the darkness. Sam rubbed his eyes and yawned, “You know there’s a perfectly good bed beside you.  Unless you like sitting on a motel carpet, that’s got enough germs to start a biological war.”  
  
“M’fine, Sam, just go back to sleep. I got this. I’m ok. There were no beds in Purgatory so this suits me just fine.”  
  
Even in the dark Sam knew Dean battled a fever; he was restless and his movements spoke of aching joints and sore muscles. He’d lain awake until his eyelids had grown too heavy to keep watch with his brother, leaving him to his lonely watch.   
  
Sam smiled. Now he understood it hadn’t been about protection but connection. His brother needed to be close to him after so long by himself.  He put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and felt heat beneath his fingers. Tense muscles relaxed as Dean unconsciously sought comfort from the contact, Sam gently squeezing his shoulder. Sam gave a knowing smile, stood up and moved away from the bed. And as sure as night followed day, Dean rolled over to follow him. Sam picked up his bag and rummaged around in it.  
  
“What ya doin’?”  Dean croaked, his voice made huskier from the ravages of coughing and sneezing.  
  
“I’m getting ready for bed.”  
  
Sam didn’t even have to turn round to know his brother’s eyebrows had risen, and knitted together in puzzlement. They were probably the only part of Dean that didn’t hurt at the moment. And knowing Dean, his eyebrows were being very expressive behind his back.  
  
“But it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon, Sam.”   
  
Dean’s complaints were drowned out by a rapid run of staccato sneezes, putting Sam in mind of a machine gun firing. He looked over his shoulder at his brother lying there panting, with yet another piece of toilet roll shoved under his now bright-red nose.  Next time he managed to escape, he’d have to get Dean some lotion-covered tissues. That stuff he was using was like sandpaper.  It could take a layer of skin off, especially with the angry way Dean was rubbing at his nose, as if he was disgusted with himself for getting sick.  
  
“I figured the only way for you to get some rest, is for me to get some shut eye as well. It’s that or I tie you to the bed, and seriously I don’t want to get all ‘Fifty Shades’ on you.  That’s way too close to Becky territory for my liking.” Sam shuddered at the thought.  
  
Dean groaned from the other bed, “Ahhh Sam, did you have to mention Becky?  Ain’t I sick enough without that, and what the Hell is ‘Fifty Shades’?” There was a sniff and cough. “Although thinking about it, I get the feeling ignorance could be bliss, especially after you threatened to tie me to the bed. I never knew you were kinky.”  
  
Sam laughed as he pulled his shirt and jeans off, stepping into his sweat pants and old T-shirt he slept in. He searched his bag once more, and grinned as he retrieved a battered book from the bottom of it. Sam turned to face his brother with a smirk on his face, “So at last I know what it takes to get you to admit to being sick.  I just need to mention Becky.”  Sam laughed at Dean’s miserable expression, and then he took hold of the bedclothes.  
  
Dean looked up at him in alarm, “What are you doin’, Sam?  Look. If I wanted a slumber party, I’d have asked for some chocolate.  But I suppose I could sit and braid your hair - it’s plenty long enough now.”  
  
Sam ignored the comment and sat on the bed, bumping Dean with his hip, “Shove over a little. This is just a sensible precaution against feverish wandering brothers. I’m making sure I don’t wake up to find you’ve made a break for the border.  But looking at the state of you, I think I’d be impressed if you made it as far as the parking lot.”  
  
Dean rolled over, putting his back to Sam. “I think I can make it as far as the diner. There was something about a blonde waitress wasn’t there?”  
  
Sam opened his book and laughed, “Yeah, she’s real cute but I hate to tell you, Dean, but you’re not exactly looking your best at the moment.”  
  
“Bite your tongue; I could never be anything other than drop-dead gorgeous.” Dean broke into a coughing fit, “And chicks dig guys with deep sexy voices.” Dean rasped, moving back until he was pressed along Sam’s leg.    
  
Sam smiled as Dean settled against him; he could feel his brother relaxing, and so what if this was like taking a sauna with his clothes on.  If it made Dean comfortable, then he could put up with a little excess heat. Soon Dean’s breathing evened out, and Sam flipped open his book.  
  
As Sam read he wiped the sweat trickling down his face.  Being wedged against Dean was like lying next to a furnace.  For a fleeting moment Sam was reminded of Hell, all heat and flames. Then he looked at Dean and remembered what his brother said about it being cold and lonely in Hell and Purgatory. He knew Hell’s torments were personal to each soul; Lucifer had never tired of telling him that, pointing out all the ways a soul could be torn apart, before demonstrating on him. So it made perfect sense Dean’s Hell would feature loneliness; his brother needed his family to love and protect.    
  
It was the core of his brother - family before everything.  Sammy before everything, including himself. The last few days had shown him just how much Dean needed that connection.  Wherever he’d gone, he’d felt Dean’s eyes on him.  He’d even been managing to get out of bed to find him, when he was so sick he could barely stand.  
  
Sam lowered his book, reached over and ran his fingers through Dean’s sweat-soaked hair, “Dude, you’re rank. If you don’t shower soon, I’m gonna have to resort to a sponge bath. Something tells me our medical insurance won’t cover the damage you’ll do to me if I try.”  
  
Dean gave a congested sigh and leaned into the touch, making Sam smile fondly.  Sam took the opportunity to carry on with the gentle scalp massage, knowing Dean would never allow the comforting touch if he was awake.  Finally Sam withdrew his hand and went back to reading. The room was quiet; the only sound was breathing and the turning of pages. Then Dean became restless again and Sam looked up. Dean was moving, managing to turn over so he was facing Sam.  
  
Before Sam could move to give his brother a little more room, Dean’s arm curled over his legs and his fingers gripped the soft material of his sweat pants tightly.  Sam was almost too scared to breathe as Dean relaxed; he went back to his book and carried on reading. As he did his hand slipped onto Dean’s shoulder.   
  
Sam’s temperature was increasing and it was getting harder to concentrate.  He pushed the covers down in an attempt to get cool which garnered a growl of displeasure from Dean as the cool air hit him.  He curled even closer in search of warmth, hugging Sam’s legs tighter.  
  
Sam closed his book and slid down the bed until he was lying beside his brother, managing to convince himself it was only to make sure Dean didn’t fall out of bed.  As soon as he was horizontal Dean rolled into his side, his arm moving upward. It was as if he was searching for something. Finally Dean’s hand stopped over Sam’s heart, his fingers entwining in Sam’s T-shirt as he sought to keep the connection between them.  
  
Warmth started to spread through Sam and it had nothing to do with being used as a cuddly Sasquatch by his brother.  The frozen numb feeling was starting to thaw a little as he realized this was real. Dean was here, and he was safe. Sam slid his arm round his brother’s shoulders, pulling him closer, gently rubbing his back. Sam was mindful of tender fever-bruised skin beneath his fingers, needing close contact of his own. Dean seemed to agree with him, as he put his head on Sam’s chest, and his arm tightened round his ribs.  
  
Sam stared at the ceiling, and then laughed softly as his brother snored loudly. He began thinking about how ridiculous this was. Here they were two grown men squashed on a single bed, clinging together as if their lives depended on it, making sure they didn’t fall off the narrow bed.  The laughter died away as a sob threatened to bubble up and escape.  Suddenly it wasn’t Dean clinging onto Sam, desperate for closeness.  It was Sam was holding onto to his big brother because, if he let go, then Dean would disappear again.  
  
Through the rising panic that made his heart race and his chest tight, he suddenly felt a gentle pressure on his chest. Sam blinked away the tears that had formed, and looked into Dean’s eyes. The familiar smirk was there, and Dean licked at dry lips.  
  
Then he said the words that frustrated and calmed him in equal measure.  
  
“M’ fine, Sammy.”  
  



End file.
